I like a bit of mongrel myself,
whether it’s a man or a dog;
they’re the best for everyday.
-George Bernard Shaw
Dear Mr. Deer Hunting Man,
This may surprise you if you have preconceived notions about bleeding-heart liberals and animal activists, but I actually have no problem with you hunting deer. The deer population here along the DE/PA/MD border is frankly insane, they can’t possibly find enough food to stay healthy, the Lyme disease problem grows worse every year (we’ve had one dog and two humans in this household fall prey so far, that we know of). And certainly a well-placed shot is far more humane than a fast-moving car.
I readily acknowledge the fact that hunters truly understand where food comes from, and the sacrifice that goes along with that. I think it’s a healthier relationship with meat than most people have: buying it neatly wrapped in plastic, bearing no resemblance to the clucking, oinking, or doe-eyed creature it originated from.
I also really, really love the brilliant programs by which hunters can donate venison to local food banks to help feed the homeless and needy in Pennsylvania and Delaware.
I realize that it’s vitally important to field-dress your kill to bring the temperature of the meat down quickly, and to keep the ick in the digestive bits from breaking open during transport. I imagine that’s no good for the venison.
And I totally get that you thought you were being nice, tossing ol’ Jimmy the deer heart as a treat. I hear it’s delicious sliced thin and sautéed with onion on a sandwich.
"Awww, can't I keep it?"
But unless you’ve got some sort of documentation that this particular deer didn’t have worms, or Lyme, or something else I’m not thinking of, Jimmy’s not allowed to have it. Mr Hunter Man, have you ever tried to take a deer heart from a beagle mix? It’s not easy. Jimmy literally tried to choke the thing down whole rather than give it up.
I almost died laughing, though. It was nice to see Jimmy act like a dog- normally he just likes to lay on the couch and watch TV- and the absurdity of the whole thing just overtook me. Tears falling down my face. My kids thought I’d really gone round the bend this time.
When you go to let the dog in you just about never expect to see him holding an enormous heart in his mouth.
(Do I miss city living? Not a chance.)
P.S. To every thing there is a season: while I was aware of the big game hunting available- deer, elk, bear, etc- I was surprised by what else you can hunt in PA. Didja know there are seasons for squirrels, woodchucks, starlings, crows (! Not my beloved crows!), English sparrows, coyotes, raccoon, foxes, beaver, and freaking bobcat? For some reason these small-game kills bother me more; maybe because you don’t use the meat; this is mainly for sport (and in some cases, population control, but I still don’t like it).
How do you feel about hunting? My opinion has definitely evolved over time.
What’s the worst thing your pet ever brought in the house?
It sometimes happens,
even in the best of families, that a baby is born.
This is not necessarily cause for alarm.
The important thing is to keep your wits about you
and borrow some money.
-Elinor Goulding Smith
Today baby Eva goes home.
Her daddy is my baby brother.
I remember when he was born- it was the day I was to return to school after Christmas vacation. I got to take an extra day off.
I remember what it was like to hold him. So little. So delicate and breakable and new.
I remember the soft sounds.
It’s so funny, that these memories didn’t come flooding back when I had my own kids. But they were overwhelming when I held this baby, my brother’s baby, with his nose and his face and his hair.
Oh, Elaina, I’m sorry. I’m sure as the baby grows I will see more of you in her. But today I am transported back.
And look how giant my children are, holding her. Insane to think they were ever that small. And sweet. And quiet.
And that one day they will grow to have babies of their own.
Excuse me for a moment. There seems to be something in my eye.
Have a great weekend…….
Making the decision to have a child is momentous.
It is to decide forever
to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
Life is simple, and the simple thing is the right thing.
-Oscar Wilde
We live on the edge of suburbia. The crowded college campus of the University of Delaware is not quite ten minutes away; Wilmington about twenty minutes. That’s if I turn right out of my driveway.
If I turn left, then I very quickly encounter fields of corn and a farm equipment auction house. Alpacas and longhorns for sale.
If I keep going, I pass the farm that provides the free-range eggs to the co-op where I shop. Cows and cows and cows, with some horses and sheep thrown in. Windmills.
Soon enough, I’m in Lancaster County, perhaps most widely known as Amish Country. Generally I refrain from taking too many pictures in Amish Country; it feels disrespectful as I know some factions don’t like to have their photos taken. I want to be a traveler in these parts, not a tourist, to be appreciative and a part of my surroundings. It’s hard, though. I love to see the tobacco drying in the tobacco houses, the draft horses pulling the plows, and the clotheslines pinned with traditional Amish garb stretching up to the sky.
There was an Amish brother-sister pair selling homemade root beer that were so flipping cute.
I should mention Jacob took these pictures out the window of a moving vehicle. Be forgiving of their blurriness.
We travel through this stretch of countryside a few times a year, on our way to visit relatives, and Jeff and I often discuss how we’d like to live back here. I imagine it’s a conversation lots of people have while visiting. It’s such a slice of Americana, of how life was and could be: simple, laid back, down to earth, at the pace of nature. It seems honest and clean. But still, close enough to “civilization.” And, apparently, outlet shopping (I’ve never shopped the outlets in Lancaster, but I know plenty of people who have raved about it.)
What always gets me is how you’ll pass dozens of handmade signs letting you know what each little farm has to offer. “Raw milk for sale.” “Organic watermelon.” “Tomatoes, blueberries, fresh flowers. Honor system, leave $ in jar.” “Free-range eggs.” “Pies after 4:00.” How much more fulfilling would it be to spend an hour picking up milk and eggs and dessert from your neighbors, than to run to the Acme?
Anyway. A few weeks ago our family was invited to participate in a blogger meet-up in Strasburg; our first stop was at the Strasburg Rail Road. We’d been there once before, when Thomas the Tank Engine chugged in for a visit (this during the absolute heyday of Maverick’s fascination with trains. He had the train table, along with every piece of track and train car that exists on the Island of Sodor). I remembered we got lost along the way- this being before GPS was widely available- so I printed out directions, and thank goodness I did. The GPS on my BlackBerry lost the signal twenty minutes away from my house and didn’t pick up again until we were pulling into the station. (Thanks Sprint!)
This is a group of lovely Philly area blogging ladies. Of which, I suppose, I am one.
Going to the Strasburg Rail Road is like stepping into a storybook. A really pretty, old-timey storybook. There’s such a sense of history: railroads in general are, for me anyway, a source of romance and wonder. (To this day I really, really enjoy picking someone up or seeing someone off at the train station, even though they never wave a hanky out the window for me like I ask. This is probably due to the fact that I am the only person I know who carries hankies.)
I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.
I travel for travel’s sake.
The great affair is to move.
~Robert Louis Stevenson
Once upon a time, the only way to get from place to place was by boat, by foot or by horse. Can you imagine? What was it like, laying the line, in the middle of dusty nowhere? Seeing- feeling– the train chug into sight for the first time? How about being at the station when a shipment of fresh fruit came up from Florida in the middle of winter? Or seeing train robbers alongside the train. My mind swoons.
At the Strasburg I’m flooded with these sorts of thoughts while actually getting to experience the chugging of a steam engine, up close. The thunder, the smoke and the whistle.
I wonder if people were afraid to step onto these things when they first arrived. Trains are so impressively massive, powerful. The term “Iron Horse” is wonderfully apt.
My kids, of course, aren’t carrying around these romantic images from history textbooks and old movies, or mentally singing Midnight Train to Georgia the whole time, either. They are more in love with the mechanics and the bustle, the promise of travel, the “going for a ride.” The “All aboarrrrrd!”
My olders probably carry around some images of the Hogwarts Express. Or maybe they have this in the back of their mind:
My very favorite episode of Tom & Jerry, ever.
In any case, we had a fantabulous morning at the railroad. We took a 45 minute train ride to Paradise, passing picnic grounds and the Cherry Crest Adventure Farm along the way (more on that tomorrow). My daughter took great pride presenting our tickets to the conductor. It was impossible to keep from beaming and waving at those standing and watching the train go by.
There is something to be said for “slow living.” This summer we also went to Disney, and Hershey Park, and to a number of shows and events where it felt like so much of our time was spent rushing from place to place.
Sometimes it’s nice to just sit and listen to the rhythm of life. To watch the world go by with your kids.
Maverick is introspective.
This is one of those rare experiences that really are fun for the whole family. Seriously.
Side note: since our house was built in the 1820s I’m always keeping an eye out for design details somewhat contemporary to that time period. (I spend a lot of time window shopping Restoration Hardware and Rejuvenation.) The earliest timetables suggest the Strasburg train first ran in 1851 or thereabouts, so not quite right, but I still wouldn’t mind a lamp like this one over our dining room table.
The kids were not willing to pose for an old-time photo with me (I’ll wear them down next time) but Cass went for a nice long ride on a miniature steam train and the “cranky cars”- handcranked cars on a mini track. She really seemed to enjoy that. They did pose on an Amish buggy, but they look so hot and sweaty in that photo that I am respecting their wishes to not publish it.
One of the few shots where she's not flashing her underoos. What a lady, sheesh.
Cassidy also, as you can see, got herself a pink mining cap, as opposed to the engineer’s and conductor’s caps all the other kids opted for. She uses it to read at night. Cassidy is an odd duck.
Then it was a picnic lunch for all and off to the Cherry Crest Adventure Farm. Since I’m already over a dozen photos and close to 1500 words, I’ll save that for another day.
ATTENTION THOMAS FANS:
Day Out with Thomas, 2004. OMG look how little they are.
Thomas will be rolling along into the Strasburg Rail Road station September 11th-19th and again November 19th-21st forDay Out with Thomas: The Celebration Tour 2010. Sir Topham Hatt will be on hand for hugs, high-fives and photos, and there’ll be an “Imagination Station” with coloring, arts & crafts and temporary tattoos. If you go over the weekend I VERY HIGHLY SUGGEST giving yourself a good amount of lead time to find parking, and of course mentally budget for some Thomas merch to take home- the gift shops have tons of cool stuff for your little engineer that you don’t find just anywhere.
If your kids are past the Thomas stage, “The Great Train Robbery” will be taking place on October 23rd (I think we’ll have to do this one). Santa will be on board weekends between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Or, make it a date night and check out the Wine & Cheese Train: first-class accommodations on the Parlor Car and complimentary wine, cheese and crackers.
Details on Day Out with Thomas and other special events can be found here, along with ticket info.
OK, I’m all done talking. For now. It’s your turn!
Tell me your impression of Amish living (I’m especially interested if you didn’t grow up in the area), and whether your kid went through the Thomas stage!
